“I’m fine,” Harper told her. “Pissed, of course, but otherwise okay.”
Nora opened her mouth to speak again, but then the bell chimed as the coffeehouse door opened. The girls all filed out, carrying their mugs. Technically, they weren’t supposed to take the mugs, but Harper doubted the baristas would give them a hard time about it as long as they returned them.
“You okay?” Raini asked.
Harper nodded. “It’s not exactly the first time she saw fit to cause a scene.”
Khlo? sneered at Carla through the glass window. “It’s what attention junkies do.”
“Come on,” began Devon, leading Khlo? toward the studio. “Let’s get inside or we’ll be late opening up.”
Nodding, Harper smiled at Nora. “It was good to see you. Tell Dario I said hi.”
Nora patted her arm. “Will do. Take care of yourself, Harper.” She waved at the others and then walked away.
Raini unlocked the studio door, and they all strode inside. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked Harper.
“Fine.” Harper sipped at her drink. “Not looking forward to telling Knox about it, though. He’ll be pissed.” And he’d no doubt point out that if she’d stayed home, she could have escaped the ugly encounter blah, blah, blah. He’d be wrong, though. Carla would have found another opportunity to confront her.
“You should tell him now before someone else does,” Tanner advised. “What’s that you’re drinking?”
“Frothed vanilla milk, apparently.”
Devon frowned. “Since when do you drink frothed vanilla milk?”
“Since the barista gave it to me to try.” And since it eased a weird burn on her tongue. “It’s good.” Knox, you busy?
His mind brushed against hers. Never too busy to talk to you. Everything okay?
I just wanted to let you know – and it’s no big deal, I’m not upset – that Carla caused a little scene in the coffeehouse. It wasn’t bad, she quickly added. There was no yelling or threats or anything. She just made it clear that she doesn’t believe Roan was one of the Horsemen. There was complete silence. Knox?
A vibe of anger touched her mind. I’ll deal with it.
No, I already dealt with it. I’m just telling you because I figured you’d want to know.
She has no right to confront you, Harper.
No, she doesn’t, so I dealt with it. She’ll be gone from the lair soon. Don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Carla was the type of person who found bad attention better than no attention, which was just plain pathetic in Harper’s opinion. She’s not important. Let her see that.
There was a long silence. Fine, but if she tries anything else… He let the sentence trail, but the threat was clear.
I understand.
His mind stroked hers once again, comforting her, and then he was gone. And as her stomach unexpectedly churned and lethargy quickly crept up on her, she started to wish she’d stayed home.
Keenan sank into the chair in front of Knox’s office desk and slapped a piece of paper on it. “I was hoping there would only be a few collectors of demonic wings and that this would be a process of elimination. If only life was that simple.”
Knox picked up the sheet of paper and scanned the long list of names, doing his best to shove aside his anger at Carla Hayden. The she-demon had done enough damage to Harper. She had no right to even speak to her, let alone confront her. But he’d respect Harper’s wishes as long as Carla kept a distance from her from this point onwards.
“Those people are simply the ones who are known to buy them on the black market – there’ll be God knows how many more.” The incubus pulled a flask out of the inside of his jacket and took a swig. “There’s one guy in particular who I think we should be looking at. He’s the main collector of sphinx wings. His name is Francisco Alaniz.”
Knox frowned. “I recognize the name, but I don’t believe I’ve met him.”
“He’s a casting agent who runs his own very successful agency in Malibu. He represents a lot of celebrities, sportsmen, and other media professionals. He’s also Thatcher’s cousin.” Keenan’s blue eyes hardened. “Funny how Thatcher was one of the demons we were recently investigating as a possible Horseman when – bam – Harper was attacked.”
Knox stilled as the implications sank into his brain. “I’ve considered that the hunters were sent as a distraction. We’ve been actively investigating the identities of the other two Horsemen for some time now. I wondered if maybe we got too close.”
The main reason he’d suspected Thatcher was that the Prime was an incantor. Only blood magick could have extracted Laurence Crow from Knox’s prison, which meant that either one of the Horsemen was an incantor or that they’d hired one to free Crow. Knox had to explore both possibilities. His demons had been discreet in investigating Thatcher, but that didn’t mean the Prime hadn’t somehow found out about it.
“Thatcher’s a strong incantor who’s been known to use blood magick in the past,” said Keenan. “But what really interests me about this guy is that he seems to be the only Prime who isn’t looking into the matter of the Horsemen.”
Levi’s eyes narrowed. “That could mean he thinks the theory is bullshit, or that he sees no need to investigate it because he knows exactly who they are. If he did set his cousin’s sights on Harper, we may have made Thatcher nervous. But… I don’t see how he could have known that Harper’s wings came to her.”
“Maybe he didn’t know,” suggested Larkin, sitting on the sofa near the window that overlooked the combat circle beneath the office. “Maybe he thought he was lying to the hunters.”
Knox inclined his head at the harpy. “True, but whoever did it would have known that we’d do our best to track who hired the hunters. That trail has led to his cousin, which puts Thatcher in our sights. He’s smart. Would he really do anything to turn our attention to him that way?”
Levi rubbed at his nape. “It could be that he didn’t expect you to get your hands on the hunters and find out they’d been hired. Hunters often act alone.”
“From what I learned, Francisco isn’t known to hire hunters,” said Keenan. “I also learned that his father and brother were sphinxes – both of whom he hated right up until the day he killed them. It’s believed that their wings were the first to be hung on his wall.”
“If that’s true, they’re probably like trophies to him,” said Larkin, toying with her long braid. “Maybe the other wings belong to people he wanted dead.”
Knox’s thoughts exactly. “We need to hear what Francisco has to say, but I don’t have the patience to take the trip using the private jet.” He needed answers yesterday.